“There she is, widow—Mrs. Updyke—I beg pardon—married woman, and Mrs. McBrain,” cried Dunscomb—“Ned is such an uneasy fellow, he keeps all his friends in a fever with his emotions, and love, and matrimony; and that just suits him, as he has only to administer a pill and set all right again. But there she is, safe and _unmarried_, thank heaven; which is always a sort of consolation to me. She’s back again, and you will do well to keep her, until my nephew, Jack, comes to ask permission to carry her off, for good and all.” Anna blushed more deeply than ever, while the mother smiled and embraced her child. Then succeeded questions and answers, until Mrs. McBrain had heard the whole story of her daughter’s intercourse with Mary Monson, so far as it has been made known to the reader. Beyond that, Anna did not think herself authorized to go; or, if she made any revelation, it would be premature for us to repeat it. “Here we are, all liable to be indicted for felony,” cried Dunscomb, as soon as the young lady had told her tale. “Timms will be hanged, in place of his client; and we three will have cells at Sing Sing, as accessories before the act. Yes, my dear bride, you are what the law terms a “particeps criminis,” and may look out for the sheriff before you are a week older.” “And why all this, Mr. Dunscomb?” demanded the half-amused, half-frightened Mrs. McBrain. “For aiding and abetting a prisoner in breaking gaol. Mary Monson is off, beyond a question. She lay down in Sarah’s drawing-room, pretending to be wearied, ten minutes since; and has no doubt got through with her nap already, and is on her way to Canada, or Texas, or California, or some other out-of-the-way country; Cuba, for aught I know.” “Is this so, think you, Anna?” “I do not, mamma. So far from believing Mary Monson to be flying to any out-of-the-way place, I have no doubt that we shall find her fast asleep on Mr. Dunscomb’s sofa.” “_Uncle_ Dunscomb’s sofa, if you please, young lady.” “No, sir; I shall call you uncle no longer,” answered Anna, blushing scarlet—“until—until——” “You have a legal claim to the use of the word. Well, that will come in due time, I trust; if not, it shall be my care to see you have a title to a still dearer appellation. There, widow—Mrs. McBrain, I mean—I think that will do. But, seriously, child, you cannot imagine that Mary Monson means ever to return to her prison, there to be tried for life?” “If there is faith in woman, she does, sir; else would I not have exposed myself to the risk of accompanying her.” “In what manner did you come to town, Anna?” asked the anxious mother. “Are you not now at the mercy of some driver of a hackney-coach, or of some public cabman?” “I understand that the carriage which was in waiting for us, half a mile from Biberry, is Mrs. Monson’s——” “Mrs.!” interrupted Dunscomb—“Is she, then, a married woman?”